


Striptease

by Caius



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Exotic Atlantean Anatomy, How does he get that armor off anyway?, M/M, Obviously magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/pseuds/Caius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Doom doesn't have his armor off. Yet. More Namor/Doom for Tentaklingon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Striptease

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tentaklingon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentaklingon/gifts).



"How can I ever trust you, Doom, unless you let me see *everything*?" Namor eyed his armored body lasciviously. 

"Everything? You are a fool, Prince, if you think my body will show you anything." The smirk was audible if not visible. 

"Then it will certainly do you no harm to show me." Namor circled around and laid a hand on his arm. 

"And perhaps it will not, but why would I bother?" Rather than shaking him off, Doom put a metal hand over Namor's bare arm. 

"Because you need me," Namor said. "If you were going to say no, we wouldn't be having this conversation. So get on with it." 

Doom laughed. "Perhaps." His free hand traced the scales of Namor's suit. "But you first." 

"Mm." Namor pressed against the hand. Doom did not register a moment's surprise at the softness of the cloaca under his glove. Perhaps he simply could not feel it well enough. "You have a lot of catching up to do." He slid his hand off Doom's arm and onto the metal of his chestplate. 

"Impatient?" Doom's gloved finger was suddenly precise, pushing the fabric up into Namor's cloaca, demanding that Namor's hidden cock meet him half-way. Doom, it seemed, had done his research.

Namor moaned, but grabbed the wrist, pulling the hand away. "No more, Doom. Not until I feel your bare fingers." Strong slender fingers dug at the joints of the gauntlet, trying and failing to get the thing off. 

Doom watched him struggle for a moment. "Let me show you how it's done." A small gesture, and Doom's other hand was naked and on Namor's chin. 

"Magic, of course." Namor let go of the hand he held and grabbed the bare one instead. It was so smooth, so fragile under his fingers, he could break it with a single twist--or not; he knew Doom well enough to know that he would never be fully unguarded in Namor's practice. Doom knew _Namor_ too well for that. "Now, the rest of it."

"All in due time," Doom's voice purred, and without Namor even noticing, another soft bare hand was on his hip, sliding down under his suit, slipping it down and off. 

Namor grabbed it before it got too far. "All in _due_ time," he repeated. "My dear Doom, you still wearing entirely too much. I'll have your chestplates, first. 

"Ambitious as always," Doom said, but he unbelted his tunic. Namor blinked, and suddenly he realized Doom's arms were bare; Namor was not the only one growing impatient with the game, after all!

"Always," Namor's hands traced up Doom's arms--the skin was soft and furry, but the muscles beneath them were nearly as hard as Namor's own. He approved.

"If you can restrain yourself for a moment," Doom said, amused, pausing in his rearrangement of fabric.

"You don't need hands for this, Doom." Namor guided the hand down back between his legs. "Your hands can make themselves useful."

Doom touched for a moment--just enough to tease--then pulled back. "No. If you want Doom's body, you will wait for it. And watch."

"Then let the show continue," Namor said, adjusting himself. His suit was starting to bulge slightly.

The tunic slid aside, escaping from cape and armor in a way that was probably--but not necessarily--magic. Unlike the armor pieces, however, it stayed in view for Doom to carefully fold it and put it away. 

"I'm watching and waiting, Doom," Namor said, wings fluttering in impatience.

"So I see," Doom said, and Namor didn't bother to ask whether he meant the wings or the bulge. 

Namor wasn't sure why Doom had to _lift_ his feet to vanish his boots--perhaps it was for Namor's benefit. Doom's feet were remarkably clean, for a surface-dweller's. Namor was pleased.

The leg armor came off in pieces, showing off legs much like the arms and finally, finally, Doom lifted his hands theatrically to his chest, stroking bare hands over silver metal built to resemble--Namor hoped--the man beneath. 

"Well?" Namor asked, not bothering to hide--or adjust--the his growing bulge. Much more, and his cock would show without him having to remove anything.

"Well, what?" Doom asked. His chest was bare, as well as his back--he stood clad only in cape, mask, and a bit of armor not much bigger than Namor's own suit. 

"It's a good look." Namor said. "But you know I require more." 

"Oh yes," Doom said, and suddenly Namor was naked. 

"Hey!" Namor said, but Doom was upon him, soft bare hand wrapping around the slick flesh of Namor's cock, distracting him for a few crucial moments before he noticed the bare--and hard--cock against his thigh, and _that_ distracted him just long enough not to notice Doom's bare face until it was upon him.

Not fair. But Namor wasn't protesting; he was too busy kissing and groping. He wasn't sure which of them had won, but the next round was already begun.


End file.
